Make A Heart Open
by also-bughead
Summary: He was trying to get his life back; get his little sister back. She just wanted to start hers over and forget about everything and everyone who had hurt her. Each other wasn't part of their plan.
1. Chapter 1

" _Mommy will be right back, okay?" the young mother crouched down, kissing the toddler gently on the head, before turning toward the older boy._

" _Don't cry, momma," he said, hugging his mother's neck gently with his little arms._

 _She pulled away, wiping her eyes. "When I leave, I want you to knock on this door okay, Juggie? You knock on the door and then some really nice people here are going to find a really nice house for you and Jellybean."_

" _Do you think they'll have dogs?" the boy asked, his eyes lighting up slightly._

" _We can hope, can't we?" the woman chuckled. "Jughead, listen. I'm going to need you to be a big boy and take care of your sister for me, okay? Jellybean's gonna need you."_

" _Where are you gonna go, momma?"_

" _It doesn't matter, sweetie," she took his little face in her hands, thumbs swiping away the tears that had begun to make little wet trails down his cheeks. "I'm going to come back for you, I promise, okay? I love you so much, Juggie."_

 _She planted one final kiss on his cheek before rising and disappearing around a corner and into the alleyway._

 _Lightning lit up the dark night sky followed by a crack of thunder, and little Jellybean began to cry, hiding her face in her worn pink and purple polka-dotted blankie._

" _Shh…" Jughead cooed, taking his baby sister's small hand in his. "It's okay, Jellybean. Mommy will be back for us soon. But for now, I'm going to take care of you."_

 _The little girl clung to his arm as the boy reached up, standing on his tippy toes to knock on the big wooden door._

"I just don't understand why she isn't with me," the raven-haired boy leans forward in his seat, "I'm the only one in our family who can take her or wants to take her, and I'm a legal adult now. She should be with me."

"Well for starters, your living conditions aren't exactly the best. They aren't deplorable, but they're not great," Ms. Weiss, the social worker who'd been working with Jughead and his little sister Jellybean for years, begins.

"What's that supposed mean?"

"A teenage girl living with two men, one of whom is unrelated?" the middle-aged woman raises her eyebrows, "The foster care system would see that sort of situation as a high-risk situation."

"That's reaching," he says, "I'm her brother and my roommate has known us for so long, he practically is too."

"Plus, there's the fact that you are reliant on a roommate to make ends meet. They'd question if you were financially stable," she continues. "Which brings us to the fact that according to your tax records, you haven't held down much of a steady job. You first job was at the Twilight Drive-in and then you worked for a while at Pop's Chock 'Lit Shoppe, but after that it was odd jobs until just a few months ago when you took up employment at Andrews Construction."

"I'm twenty-one. I was trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I'm still trying to figure it out," the dark-haired boy explains. "And I don't think that makes me an unfit guardian. As long as Jellybean gets what she needs."

Ms. Weiss sighs, pulling out a manila envelope with "Forsythe Jones III" stamped across the front. She pulls out a few of the papers and begins to read from them. "You first went to Riverdale Juvenile Detention Center for arson when you were ten."

"I was a stupid fifth grader playing with matches," he scoffs, "that hardly counts."

"But it doesn't stop there, Jughead," she continues to read off his rap sheet, "you then were arrested at fifteen for running away from a foster home. And then again at sixteen for kidnapping Jellybean from hers."

"Yeah, because you separated us and she ended up with some low lives who were beating her," Jughead narrows his eyes, "And _you people_ wouldn't do anything. I had to protect my sister."

"And then, when you were seventeen, things really started to head downhill," the social worker goes on, un-phased by his accusations, "You became affiliated with the Southside Serpents, and after that it's a slew of charges: drug distribution, petty theft…and just last year you incurred an assault charge."

"That got dismissed!" he cranes his neck in an attempt to see the papers for himself, "it shouldn't be on there."

"That's not how the DA is going to see it," Ms. Weiss sighs, stacking the paperwork and resealing it all into the envelope. "I'm sorry, Jughead, I really am. I've been working with you and your sister for a long time, and I really think you're a good person. But I can't ethically recommend you for guardianship of Jellybean. And even if I did, with your record, no judge will grant you custody. She's fifteen. She needs stability."

"She needs her family," Jughead insists, leaning forward again. "She needs me."

"I'm sorry. It's just the way it is."

"Our mother told me to look out for her," he whispers, looking down at his hands in his lap.

"Well, your mother also left the two of you on a church step in the middle of the night," Ms. Weiss retorts, "I don't think she's really good at discerning what's best for her children."

Jughead looks away, gritting his teeth to push back the anger that rose in his chest.

"Sorry to have wasted your time." The young Serpent pushes himself back from Ms. Weiss' desk, storming from her office and out the door of the old brick building. The wind nips at his nose and cheeks, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of the worn leather jacket

He gets into his truck, slamming the door behind him. Yanking the beanie that was perpetually on the top of his head, balling it in his fists, he punches the steering wheel once, letting a single sob rip from his throat, before he drawing in one long, unsteady breath.

He then replaces his beanie, tucking the black disheveled strands into it. He revs the old engine to life, pulling out of the CPS center parking lot and driving away.

When he got back to the dingy house where he and his best friend lived, his little sheepdog rushed to greet him, tail wagging so hard his whole backside wriggled with it.

"That little shit has literally been sitting at the window whining since you left," Joaquin groans.

"I can't help it if Hotdog likes me more than you," Jughead laughs, patting the dog's fur. "When was the last time he went out?"

"Ummm…" the greasy haired boy looks away from his video game, a guilty expression on his face.

"Wrong answer," Jughead grabs the leash, hooking it onto the dog's blue collar, and heads back out into the cold.


	2. Chapter 2

_She knew she shouldn't have come tonight._

 _Betty could feel her heart thumping in her ears as she tried to breathe. The dark room felt like it was closing in on her, making her feel even more panicky. Trapped beneath the weight of him, she felt claustrophobic._

" _Shhh…just relax, babygirl," he caressed her face in a way that was probably meant to soothe, but it just made her even more uneasy. She then felt his lips at her ear, teeth enclosing the lobe, and her stomach lurched. He smelled strongly of liquor and weed._

 _Why didn't she fight back? Why didn't she tell him no?_

 _Maybe she just thought that eventually he'd realize she wasn't reciprocating and go away._

 _She'd initially stolen away to the quiet bedroom to escape the loud sounds of the party. Her roommate, Cheryl, had insisted that she should come with her to the frat party, "at least once." She'd promised that after one drink, if she wasn't feeling it, they could leave. Of course, this isn't what had happened and Betty knew that it wouldn't. Cheryl ended up getting very drunk and dancing with her sorority sisters, as Betty expected. She really didn't mind though._

 _This was who Cheryl Blossom was. It was her lifestyle: she loved to party and drink and dance. Betty'd even joined in on the fun, dancing with them and taking a few jell-o shots (though not near as many as her red-headed friend). But, it was nearing two in the morning, and her head hurt and she was tired. She knew Cheryl would probably be out till dawn, so she planned to just sit in a quiet room for a while, drink some water to sober up. She'd make sure Cheryl had a safe way home, and then walk the short block back to their dorm._

 _Falling asleep wasn't part of the plan. Waking up at God knows what hour to a stranger kissing her wasn't part of the plan. What had happened to her that night was not part of the plan._

 _She suddenly came to her senses, and she weakly pushed against his chest. "Wait, no…"_

" _Don't worry," he murmured. "I'll be gentle."_

 _By the time hiked her dress up around her waist, fingers hooking into the waistband of her pink lace panties, shimmying them down her legs, it was too late. Fingers wandered to places where no man had ever touched her, and then she heard him fumble with his belt buckle and then his fingers were replaced by him inside her._

 _It hurt. It hurt so much._

 _He continued, thrusting himself in and back out, much too rough, much too fast, over and over. She dug her nails into her palms, drawing blood that dripped onto the navy bed sheets._

 _He finally finished, pulling himself out and coming onto her thigh._

 _And then, as he buckled his jeans he asked her if it hurt. Asked it as if she were his girlfriend, his friend. As if he actually cared how she felt about it. Like it was something she had engaged in._

 _She stared at him through tears, dumbfounded._

" _Fine, bitch," and he left her alone._

 _Betty had never felt so alone._

"I know I've told you like a million times today, Kev, but thank-you," Betty says, as she and her best friend set the last of her boxes into the plain bedroom that was now hers. "You're a real lifesaver. And you saved me from having to move back in with my parents," the blonde scrunches her nose up at the thought of having to live with her overbearing mother again, especially after she'd gotten a taste of what it was like to be free of her.

"No worries, Betty," Kevin smiles, wrapping her in a tight hug. "What's a gay best friend good for if not to offer roommate services."

Betty laughs at his goofy grin before her face fell. It had been a long few weeks, and she honestly felt like crap about everything that had happened.

"I'm pathetic, Kev," she shakes her head, turning to open one of the boxes with 'miscellaneous' written along its side in thick black sharpie.

"No, you're not, Betty."

"Yes, I am," she shrugs, beginning to unpack the various decorations, photos and knick knacks, placing them about the room. "I manage to escape Riverdale and go to _Harvard_ , of all places. And then I crack under the pressure. Not even through my sophomore year, and I've already failed out."

"It's an Ivy League, Betts. It's not like you flunked Riverdale Community College."

"I know, but," she sighs, turning toward him. "I've spent my whole life trying to be perfect. Which isn't good, I know, but, for once, I felt like I'd found something that I was good at. I really thought I could pursue this writing thing, Kev. And I spent all this time and energy and effort to make good grades so I could go to a good school and get the hell out of this fucking town.…just to have a mental breakdown and end up right back where I started?"

There's a long, thick silence, before Kevin finally speaks again, his tone serious. "What led you to do that?"

Betty shrugs, trying so hard to squelch down the emotions that arose when the incident was brought up. She'd only ever talked about it to the head doctor when she got committed to the psych ward, and that was only because she knew if she didn't they wouldn't let her leave. And even then, she didn't tell her about what had happened that fateful night at the frat party, which was probably the real reason she'd flunked out of school and attempted to take her own life. It would be a secret she would carry to her grave.

"It all got too much, I guess? My sister's drama, school, all of it..." she looks down at her hands, fidgeting them nervously. "I was trying to be everything for everyone. I just…. I needed it to stop, y'know?" She quickly blinks away the tears that threaten to poke out of her eyes.

"Betty, if you ever feel that way again, please tell me. Or somebody."

"I will. I promise," Betty nods, smiling softly. "I think I should be alright, now, though. They've got me on some good old fashioned crazy meds, and they actually help, surprisingly enough."

"Look at it this way," Kevin grins, "when you're at the bottom, the only way you can go is up!" He was trying to make her feel better, but it was obvious by the grimace on her face it'd ended up having the opposite effect. "Not that you're at the bottom or anything, you're far from the bottom, in fact, um… I'll just leave you to unpack."

"That might be for the best," Betty let out a small laugh. "Thanks, Kev. For everything."

"Of course," he smiles again before ducking out of the room.

Betty turns toward the small mountain of boxes that had formed in the center of the room. "Wanna help me unpack, Caramel?"

The little orange cat doesn't move from her spot on the newly made bed.

"You're about useless, you know that?" she laughs. "Welp. I guess that leaves it up to me, huh? This isn't going to unpack itself."

The blond brings up her hands, using them to tighten her already tight ponytail, before setting to work make the tiny room hers.


End file.
